


The Night We Met

by iamatheatrekid



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Alvin Marsh is His Own Warning, Amputee Georgie Denbrough, Bad Parent Donald Uris, Band Fic, Ben loves boy bands, Bill on lead guitar, Coming Out, Eddie on drums, F/M, Georgie Denbrough Lives, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Richie on lead vocals, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Stan on EVERYTHING ELSE, more soon - Freeform, parenting yaknow, shark puppy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28846893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamatheatrekid/pseuds/iamatheatrekid
Summary: A garage band started by a bunch of losers actually brings people together, whether they expected it or not.(i can't write summaries)
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Eddie Kaspbrak, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	1. Prologue - Ben

**Author's Note:**

> New work!!!  
> I don't know when this will be updated, but hopefully at least once a week!  
> Starting chapter 4 and on, the chapter titles are song titles :))

Boy bands were the shit, in Ben’s opinion. Although, he would never use such language and no one would ever know about that opinion, the point still stood. He still had posters throughout his room, a box of concert tickets on his dresser, and a busy playlist. He was a bit unclear if he liked these bands because of an appreciation he had for music, or if he was gay deep down inside and just didn’t know it yet, but when he heard an electric guitar start jamming, his little heart jammed too. 

Being in his quiet world, Ben had the opportunity to drift into a cloudy mind full of songs. He had an attention to detail, which was how he was able to spot one specific poster in a sea of similar ones on the bulletin board at school. The board had always been hoarded with sign up sheets or informational posters for different clubs or services offered at the school, and Ben had entertained the idea of signing up for something at school, but opted to avoid the board overall. 

Until he was pressed against the wall outside of the main office, the board directly in front of him. 

Student Council, Garden Club, Newspaper Club, Picture Retakes, Homecoming Committee, Chess Club, Debate Club, Shark Puppy. A neatly drawn graphic in the middle of plain printer paper and a scribble of information at the bottom. 

It made Ben’s stomach swim. “All new garage band!” “Catch us THIS FRIDAY NIGHT!!” “Sick beats and a fun time!” The confidence that this band had poured out into the hall. 

Ben wondered if the poster was stuck on there without permission, it was clearly on top of something else, something written with markers, and in a hot flash, he took the thumbtack from the top of the poster, folded it up, and stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans. It would’ve gotten taken down eventually, an advertisement for a garage band did not belong on the school activities board, and at least now Ben had a piece of the rush of his heart. 

“Ben?” A voice from inside the office called. Enough to startle him that he didn’t even notice the tired expression. 

Ben whipped around and the secretary held the phone out. “Your mother,” she said. 

He quickly remembered why he was standing across from the bulletin board in the first place and slid back into the office. The phone’s hard plastic felt sweaty, but Ben didn’t know if it was his hands or the secretary’s. 

“Hi, Mom,” He whispered into the phone. 

“Benny, are you alright?” His heart immediately swelled at the sound of his mother’s voice. Arlene Hanscom was a busy woman who paused her day to deal with this. 

“Yes! I’m fine!”

“Are you sure? The nurse said you fainted.” Because he did. 

“But I’m okay now.” Ben had to swallow to keep his nerves down.

“I can pick you up, sweetheart.”

“No, no, I’m okay.”

She was silent for a moment. Ben hoped she was fooling for the act that he was poorly performing. “Are you sure?” She asked again.

“Yes, Mom. Don’t worry.” 

“You be careful,” she said, “Don’t scare me again.”

“I will, Mom,” he hesitated, glancing at the secretary who had already turned away from him. “I love you,” he whispered. 

“I love you too, Ben.” The line sang to him and he sighed in relief.

He handed the phone back to the secretary, realizing that the sweat must have been his own. He hated lying to his mother. 

“She picking you up?” 

Ben shook his head confidently. He hated it, but he had gotten away with it. He wanted to tell himself that he was fine, that this wasn’t a lie, but he wasn’t and it was. Fainting in gym class wasn’t normal, wasn’t a regular occurrence, and he hoped that it didn’t become regular, even if it got him out of class for the day. 

“Alright, you get back to class.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The little fainting spell wasn’t long, his eyes were open before the nurse could make it down to the gym, so gym class was technically still going on, but that didn’t mean he had to go. He was on a lying roll, and could definitely manage to sneak out another if it meant he got something good out of causing a scene in the middle of volleyball. 

He opted to wandering to the music wing of the school, a secluded hallway around the auditorium where he could go undetected with all of the music and engagement sweeping under the closed doors. Ben leaned up against the cool brick walls and closed his eyes for a moment, again feeling solitude in hearing music. It reminded him of what was stowed away in his pockets, his heart jumping quickly. 

Shark Puppy. _What a silly name_ , Ben thought. He wondered who it was that could’ve come up with that, but the poster didn’t have any names of the band members. He was sure, though, that it was some of the popular kids. Someone who lived on West Broadway and played football and made fun of him behind his back. But that made him more intrigued. 

Not that he wanted to be popular, all of those kids were snobs and he knew that. He just wanted to be included. The fact that there were no names on the poster, that it had “Dominic Fahey’s House Party” as the location they were performing, it all seemed like everyone knew of this cool band, it was some secret club. And Ben wanted to be a part of it. So bad. 

He swore to himself that he wouldn’t let his mom know why he fainted, that he wouldn’t let her worry and there would be no reason for her to not let him go to that house party. 


	2. Prologue - Mike

Church group was fine but also made Mike want to curl up in a ball and disappear sometimes. He didn’t think of himself as super religious, but then remembered that he went to a Catholic school and had a weekly youth group and went to mass. There were crosses in his house, they said grace before they ate, they were a more religious family than some others, but it wasn’t like he was crazy about it. 

The youth group was some of his only interaction with people his age. Sure, he had school, but he only had ten kids in his grade and they were the same ten kids that were in his grade all throughout school. The youth group was different. The devoted Catholic children that were there every week, the ones popping in for community service for a few weeks, or the ones going because their parents felt they needed a positive space. 

It was a very positive space, a highlight of Mike’s week. They sang songs, talked about their weeks, played games. In a way, it was an unintentional therapy with touches of God here and there. And Mike could handle that. He would suffer through anything at the chance of having friends. 

He was fine with sharing in his group because there wasn’t much to share about his life. He woke up and did work on the family farm, went to school, did more work on the farm, and that’s it. That was his life. Sometimes his father would send him on little quests throughout the town and allow him to explore on his day off, and that was very appreciated. But even that wasn’t much to share in group. Even though they were all good Catholic teenagers, they still had typical teenage lives that Mike was missing out on. 

Sure, he was glad he didn’t have the hardships. Drama between friend groups and boyfriends and girlfriends. But a part of him also just wanted to be included. To have a friend that he could pour his love into. 

He surveyed the room, but no one seemed to be the perfect friend. He wasn’t picky, of course, but he needed someone special. And he wanted their friendship to happen naturally and not in an awkward partner exercise at youth group. 

So he knew pretty quickly that David Armell would not be his perfect friend. 

The project was to share with your partner an aspect of your life that they wouldn’t know about. Mike went the easy route and prepared a presentation about living on a farm, not about the other obvious differences between him and David––his white skin, upper class family, snobby friend group. He worked hard all week on the presentation, proud of his family farm and wanting to share it. His parents aided him with suggestions on what to add, let him take fresh vegetables to group, as a promise that he would be nice to David. 

David clearly didn’t do enough work. 

He prepared a topic, which was something. Mike was an overachiever and this proved it. David told him about public school and how he played on the football team, things Mike already was jealous of and didn’t need a presentation to be jealous more so. 

“So, we have school from 8 to 2,” David had started with, picking details from off the top of his head. “It’s required that we take a math, English, social studies, and science every year, and an elective.”

As if Catholic school wasn’t a real school. 

Mike loved youth group, but he didn’t mind leaving every week. This week though, his heart sank when he saw his parents walk into the community room of the church, the opposite of how he normally walked out of the room to meet them in the lobby. They went right over to Mike and smiled, waving to him. 

Mike loved his parents, he really did, but they could certainly be embarrassing. Living on a farm didn’t give him the best street cred, everyone assuming he was a red neck Mainer, but his family was far from that description. Too far. His parents always had mud on their jeans but smiles through their worn faces. They got pushed around by the town but always shook people’s hands. They killed sheep in the barn and made cookies in the kitchen, grew tomatoes in a large quantity and donated them to food banks, started work at dawn and put on a family movie at dusk.

They loved him, they loved life, and they made sure to show it. “Mr. Armell!” Will Hanlon cheerily greeted David, offering his hand to be shaken. 

David hesitantly took the offer, his eyes not leaving the thick callouses on the older man’s large hands. “It’s been quite some time since we’ve seen you, how are you, boy?” Will continued with asking. 

David shrugged. “I’m alright.” He pulled his hand away and Mike saw him wipe it on the underside of his pants. 

“How was the group today?” Jessica Hanlon asked, looking at Mike brightly.

Mike quickly nodded and stood up out of his chair. “It was great, a lot of fun.” He hoped that he could get it over with quickly and get out of there. 

But his dad turned to David again. “Did Mikey show you everything from our farm?”

“Yes sir.” David was avoiding eye contact, but no longer the uninterested boy Mike had been talking to earlier.

“Really? What was your favorite part?” 

“Um...” Mike knew that David hadn’t paid attention to his presentation, but luckily he was able to cover himself. “That you make your own meals. That’s cool,” he was able to scrap together.

“It is cool!” Will Hanlon beamed. Then he snapped his fingers. “You know what? You should come over for dinner sometime, you and your folks!”

Mike’s ears turned bright red. “No, that’s alright,” he stumbled, trying to decline on behalf of David but not wanting to seem rude. 

“Friday!” Will proposed, snapping his fingers and ignoring his son. 

David squirmed in his chair. “I don’t know, I have a party to go to on Friday.”

“A birthday party?”

“No, just some dumb house party.”

Will grabbed Mike’s shoulder. “That sounds like a lot of fun, why doesn’t Mikey come along with you?”

“Dad, no, that’s alright,” Mike started to say, but his dad shushed him, waiting for David’s answer.

He was stunned. “Um, yeah, uh, you can come. You wouldn’t know anyone, it’s people from the high school.”

Jessica smiled. “Even better, you can make new friends!”

“And I’m sure David here will take care of you, right boy?” Will winked. 

In a last attempt to save himself and David, Mike quickly said, “I think I actually have plans Friday night.”

“No you don’t, you didn’t ask us about any plans.” And with that, Will was back on David. He pulled out a pad of paper, asking, “What’s the address, I’ll drop Mikey off.”

And with David’s profuse sweating, he gave Will the address, declaring the location of Michael Hanlon’s death, a high school party on West Broadway. He was excited to attend a party, he never had been and movies made them out to be quite the scene, but he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. 

And it was happening no matter how he complained to his parents on the car ride home. They knew he was lonely and they felt partially responsible. They wanted their son to have friends and to have a normal school experience, and the only way to do that was to force him into doing it. 


	3. Prologue - Beverly

Beverly was sure she’d be doing chores for the rest of her life. She really messed this one up. Her dad had always been harsh with his punishments, but she could handle it. She could handle him hitting her or pushing her but now he knew that she could handle it. So the punishments were changing.

And somehow chores were worse in her mind. She was grounded and couldn’t go anywhere and couldn’t even use her time at home for stuff she wanted to do. When she got home from school, she had a list of chores waiting for her, and if she didn’t get them done before her dad came home, that’s when he would hit her. Hard.

She learned that lesson when she blew off the list the week before and stopped on her way home from school to pick up some cigarettes, making it so she didn’t make it through the entire list when her dad came home. He was able to weasel it out of her that she broke her groundation and was buying (or actually stealing) cigarettes, so she got quadruple the punishment. And she’d been a good girl ever since. 

Not today. She was pissed off today. 

Today Greta Keene pulled on her hair in History. Today Sally Mueller knocked her milk over to spill down the front of her shirt. Today Henry Bowers grabbed her arm in the hallway and that was _not okay_. 

Today her dad had her taking pictures out of frames, dusting and cleaning the frames, and then putting the pictures back in them and back in their places. All of the pictures. Even the pictures of her mom. 

Their family posed in a picture taken at JC Penney. Nice clothes they picked through Goodwill to find. A long sleeve shirt on Beverly to hide her bruises. Her hair was curled like her mother’s. In one, they all stood side by side, arms wrapped around each other. In another, Elfrida Marsh sat in a chair with her daughter off one shoulder and her husband off the other. In another, they all sat on a couch, Beverly in the middle with her dad’s hand on her leg. 

She hated those pictures. She hated seeing herself smiling with her spineless mother and her evil father. She hated that these were moments in her life when she thought everything was okay. 

But everything was not okay and she threw the frames and balled the pictures up in her fists and she cried because she wrinkled a picture where her and her mother shared the same smile and she cried because her and her mother shared the same smile. She took the pictures to her room and shoved them in a drawer, to be dealt with later. She pulled out a nice blouse and she put on her mother’s makeup to hide her blotchy cheeks and accentuate her red, squinted eyes. 

Beverly left her apartment. She knew there was a party that night, not for hours, but she could kill time. She could walk around downtown, sit in the park, wander through stores. She wished she had a friend, a girl friend whose house she could run to. They could get ready for the party together, do their makeup and swap clothes. But instead, she watched people in the park.

Watching people was fine, it was a fun way to pass time. There were little kids going down the slide, moms pushing babies in swings, fourth graders playing cards in the grass, ladies power walking, dogs racing around. Each person, each dog, had their own reason for being there. Their own connections with the park and with others there. 

Bev’s connection was being a part of a moment even though she was there alone. 

She never cared much for being a part of moments, but it’s always better to be a part of something bigger than what she was. Not being at home with her dad and instead being beside others who have lives that they abandoned.

House parties were a perfect place for that. Dim lights, loud music, warm air, sweaty hair. You left your life at home and danced beside people you know who were in a different light, living a different part of themselves. And it was the exactly perfect rush Beverly needed to escape her shitty house.


	4. What's New Scooby Doo?

Mike knew that David would eventually ditch him, so it was no surprise when it actually happened. They would definitely bump into each other throughout the night though, which Mike was hoping he could avoid the best he could.

Part of him wanted to just slip out the door and sit outside until the party was over and his dad pulled up to take him home, but he knew that that wasn’t possible. It would look sketchy to the nice neighborhood he was in and it would be a terrible waste of time. Inside, he could eat some of the chips on display and maybe find a new friend or two.

Unlikely. Everyone was already grouped up and no one paid any attention to him, except to stare at the strange black kid they didn’t know. None of them were the perfect friend material he was looking for.

  
The night wasn’t going perfectly for Ben Hanscom either. His mom felt so bad for what happened in gym class that she agreed to let him go to the party and make some friends, although she was going to pick him up early to be sure that he didn’t have enough time to really fool around. Not that he would, of course, the first thing that Ben did when he walked through the door was follow the music.

The house was pretty big, at the fancy side of town near the golf course, and there were people at every turn. He ignored all of them and followed the music of what had to be this Shark Puppy band all the way down to the basement. The louder the music got, the faster his heart started racing. The bass line swam in his stomach and he was too excited to even recognize the song they were playing. 

Luckily, the basement wasn’t too crowded, but Ben wouldn’t have even noticed. He was entranced immediately when he saw who was on their makeshift stage, a rectangle marked off with tape. He knew those people. Well, he knew two of them.

The first one obviously being Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier, the one singing into the microphone. He was famous at their school, or rather, infamous. His big mouth got him in trouble with teachers and with students, talking before he could think if it was a good idea to say what he was going to say, or just letting his mouth run and not being able to stop it.

The second was the exact opposite: Stuttering Bill Denbrough. His mouth was screwed shut most of the time, now not being an exception. His jaw was set in concentration as his fingers danced along the frets of his electric guitar. Ben didn’t actually know Bill, he only knew of the talk about Bill. His stutter and how he never talked, or his brother whose arm was torn off when he was 7 years old. 

It was slightly comforting to see Bill like this, though. Not afraid of his speaking or of his brother dying. Only focused on letting his mind and his heart wander away with the music, which was what Ben also loved about music.

The kid of the drums looked familiar. He was definitely in his grade and Ben knew he had seen his small figure pushing his way through the halls before, making the drums seem like a perfect match for him, but he just couldn’t put a name on his face. And he was sure he had never seen the kid on the keyboard. He held himself in an interesting way, his face blank, standing up straight. It was like he was only letting his fingers be connected to the music, but then he’d lean into his mic and sing with the most clear understanding.

Ben was paying such close attention to the musicians, he didn’t even register that they were switching songs. For some reason he had expected some cool popular kids to be leading the band, and while he wasn’t one to determine if others were “uncool,” these kids were certainly not popular. He saw Stuttering Bill get picked on and remembered hearing about several fights the Trashmouth got into, and could only imagine that the other two kids were on similar paths if they were all friends.

The transition to the next song was seamless. The curly haired kid on the keyboard picked up a bass from the ground and they were off. Part of Ben wanted to applaud them, but the other part wanted to jump up and dance around.

_What’s new Scooby Doo?_

_We’re coming after you_

_You’re gonna solve that mystery_

Beverly had been in the basement since the group first started playing. She realized that even though she was feeling rebellious, she didn’t want to see anyone at the party. She just wanted to dance and not have to worry about anything else.

Sound traveled nicely in the house, so you could hear the music as clearly upstairs as you did downstairs, but everyone knew upstairs was for socializing and the only people in the basement were the ones that wouldn’t make fun of her for dancing how she wanted.

She was sure no one would even dare talk to the scary Beverly Marsh, but then someone yelled to her over the drums, “They’re good, huh?”

Bev was taken aback. This was a kid she had never seen before at school, he had dark skin and worn out clothes, but he had a nice smile that made her want to be kind in return instead of snapping at him.

She smiled and agreed, but he went on. “You know these kids?”

She knew half of them; everyone knew Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier and Stuttering Bill Denbrough, but she wasn’t good with names or faces and had no idea who the other two were. “I go to school with them,” she said anyways.

“I’m Mike,” he said, reaching out his hand. “I go to Penobscot Christian.”

Bev didn’t really want to shake his hand, but she told herself that he wasn’t dangerous and was just trying to be nice. So, she took his strong, calloused hand and was met with a soft grip. “I’m Beverly.”

“It’s nice to meet you Beverly.”

“You too, Mike.”

Mike cheered to himself. He had taken a leap of faith and it worked. Beverly may not have known it, but she was signing up to be his new best friend. He thought she was a good candidate, she didn’t wear the fanciest clothes, although her green silk top looked nice in contrast with her red hair, and he loved how carefree she looked when she was dancing.

A wicked grin suddenly spread across Beverly’s face. “What are you doing after this?” She asked him.

He shrugged. “Just going home.”

“You wanna blow this popsicle stand?”

They left a bit prematurely, as the party didn’t die down for a while, but eventually they ran out of songs to play, they didn’t want to disturb the neighbors, they needed sleep, they needed water, and they didn’t want to further enable the partying.

“They” being Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier, Stuttering Bill Denbrough, and their friends Eddie Kaspbrak and Stanley Uris. Eddie and Stan both had permanent sticks up their butts; they were the ones saying they should quiet down (Stan) and go to bed (Eddie).

Richie wanted to check with Dominic Fahey, the party host, to make sure it was okay for them to leave––this was their first big gig and they needed validation––but Bill shuffled him out the door once they realized Dominic was most likely passed out amongst the sea of teenagers passed out throughout the house.

They loaded all of their equipment into the vintage van Went and Maggie Tozier bought for their son on his sixteenth birthday, their bodies exhausted after their entire set. They had a rule that Stan originated that each person loaded their own equipment which Eddie dreadfully hated. Stan got to sit up front in the van with Richie on the ride back to the Tozier house _because that was just how it went_ and the ride was full of them all talking about their set.

“I swear the tempo gets faster each time we do ‘What’s New Scooby Doo,’” Stan sighed.

“It does. Richie can’t follow my lead.”

Richie took his eyes off the road to look back at Eddie and yell, “It’s not my fault,” but was met with Eddie only telling him to _keep his eyes on the road, Jesus fuck._

Bill was silent, scrolling through his phone until he gasped softly. “Suh-Suh-Suh-Someone c-c-commented on our In-n-n-nsta-gr-gram!”

“Someone’s following our Instagram?” Stan asked, bemused.

“Yeah, B-B-Ben-j-jamin Hans-sc-scom.”

“Isn’t that the kid–”

“Beep Beep Richie.”

“Yeah, Ben Hanscom,” Eddie continued, ignoring the excess noise.

“He s-s-said, ‘You g-guys wuh-wuh-wuh-where gr-great t-tonight,’ with a f-f-few smmmiling emojis.”

They all hummed in response, but Richie went to say, “That’s nice. Where does he live? Should we stop by and give him a big hug? Or a fruit basket?”

“We’re not giving him a fucking fruit basket,” Eddie snapped.

Stan ignored them both and turned in his seat to face Bill. “Did you see who else was there tonight? Beverly Marsh.” He teased.

Eddie gagged. 

“Yeah, sh-sh-she left wuh-wuh-with s-some g-guy.”

Eddie crossed his arms and tutted, “Good.” When he was met by stares from the others, he further rambled, “She’s just not good enough for Bill! You guys heave heard the rumors and seen–”

“They’re j-just r-r-ruh-rumors, E-E-Eddie.”

Richie put his hand up to his mouth like a microphone and put on a fast auctioneer voice, spitting out, “Do we got two crushes on Beverly Marsh? We countin’ two? Goin’ once, goin’–”

“ _Gross_ , no,” Eddie snapped a final time.

The lights were all out in the Tozier house when they pulled in the driveway at 2 am, which would warrant caution to not be loud from anyone but Richie Tozier. His parents had become heavy sleepers, or just good ignorers, after all the seventeen years of living with their son, so they were all able to sneak up to Richie’s room with no trouble.

Except Bill couldn’t get Eddie’s last comment out of his head.


	5. Bastards of Young

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The semester is over! So maybe I'll write more! Hopefully I'll write more!!!!!

Stepping out of Richie’s house, Bill always immediately felt colder. Fall had only just touched Derry, Maine in the red trees and cloudy skies, so the chill in the settling fog made sense. The coldness Bill felt wasn’t just on his cheeks, but around his heart as well. 

Richie’s home was his home as well. “Mi casa es tu casa,” Richie would yell upon bringing his friends into his house throughout the entirety of middle school. The Denbrough household couldn’t decide if it wanted to be warm or cold inside, but being with his friends would always be the most comforting.

Richie was easy. They could sit in silence but could also let words flow easily about anything on their mind. Stan was loving. Careful glances and never ending understanding. Eddie was something. A whole other radar.

Much like with Georgie, there was no way to describe Bill’s love for him. It flowed so deep through different paths inside him. He had never felt so strongly for another person until Georgie was born and then that love erupted again when he met Eddie. Home would always be both with his brother and with his losers. 

His own house was cold most of the time. Luckily, Georgie was usually home.

He didn’t like being alone in his room. He wasn’t yet an annoying teenager and actually enjoyed being around his family. Georgie was very often sitting on the couch in the living room, pressed against the right arm, which was where he was when Bill walked through the door after his bustling night with his friends and with his music.

“Bill!” He called when he heard the door close.

That brought a big smile to Bill’s face, and he quickly put his bag down to go greet his little brother. 

He had a book open on the arm of the couch, growing into quite the little bookworm, which excited Bill, but he closed the book when Bill walked in, giving him his full attention.

“Hi b-buh-buh-bud,” Bill said to him.

“How was the party?”

“Uh, it w-wuh-wuh-wuh-was alright.” 

Bill sat in the armchair, his spot in the living room. He understood Georgie’s close relationship with his parents, but there was no way he could ever reciprocate it, so he was just fine sitting in his own little corner of the living room.

“What’d you play?”

“N-Nuh-Nothing n-new. Scooby D-D-Doo was fun, th-the-though.”

“I haven’t heard Scooby Doo yet. You need to play it for me.”

“No, yuh-yuh-you need the-the-the f-full eff-ff-ffect. The-the dr-dr-drums, the sing-singing.”

  
  
“You can sing.”  


“Not as wuh-wuh- _good_ as Ruh-Ruh-Richie or Ssssstan.”

“I think you do.”

“M-M-Maybe you c-can c-come to a pr-pr-practice s-some d-day.”

Georgie lit up. “Really?”

“Yeah. I’ll h-have t-t-to m-m-make sure there’s n-n-nothing inappr-pro-pro-priate we-we-we’re doing.” 

“That’s fine. I hear you swear all the time.”

Bill didn’t know where his parents were and gave Georgie a glare, telling him to stop talking to not get him in trouble. 

Not that he knew if they cared. Bill wondered if deep down his parents were ashamed of their kids. The two Denbrough boys were freaks and everyone knew it. Stuttering Bill and One Armed George.

“I c-c-can assssk if it’d b-buh-buh-be c-cool.”

“Please!” Georgie may have been 10, but his puppy dog eyes were still golden. 

Bill pulled out his phone with a sigh.

**shark pups**

**billiam:** can Georgie come to our next rehearsal? 

**billiam:** he’s been bugging me 

**dick:** LITTLE GEORGE???

**dick:** OF COURSE

**spaghedward:** news flash, dick, you aren’t the only one in this band 

**dick:** so georgie can’t come?

**spaghedward:** I don’t care

**staniel:** He’s fine

**staniel:** Watch your language, Rich

**dick:** stanley! you wound me!

**staniel:** Oh dear

**billiam:** point still stands

**billiam:** don’t taint my little brother

**dick:** lol

**dick:** taint

**spaghedward:** jesus

**staniel:** Bye.

When Bill looked up from his phone, his little brother was still staring at him, eyes wide. 

“Th-The-The-They s-said yes.”

Georgie jumped in his little spot, throwing his arm up in excitement. “ _Yes!_ ” He yelled. “Thank you thank you _thank you!_ ”

Bill laughed. “We-We-We have a r-r-re-re-re-p- _practice_ tomorrow, s-so make sh-sh-sh-sure you be-be-behave.”

“I’m a delight.” Georgie smiled widely.

When the energy died down again and Georgie went back to his book, _Lost on a Mountain in Maine_ for school, Bill pulled his phone out once again. He was curious to see who was at the party and who had seen them play. It was Stan’s idea to not put any of their names on the poster, hoping it would make more people go, and not just to make fun of them.

And it worked. As Bill scrolled through the Instagram posts and tapped through Snapchat stories, it seemed like they had a great turnout and everyone had a good time. Obviously no one would remember their band name in their drunken states, but they still got a gold star for helping people have fun. 

Bill wasn’t too concerned about them, though. He was trying to find proof of Beverly Marsh being there and having a good time. He also wanted to know who it was that she left with. He had never seen him at school, although Bill was quite known for not paying close attention to people

Beverly never posted on her social media. Bill wondered if she even used her accounts. She wasn’t following him, though, so it wouldn’t matter.

Ben Hanscom hadn’t posted anything. His accounts were mostly artsy pictures of buildings or flowers, months apart from each other.

If anyone had been paying attention to their set, it’d be Ben.

It also was Ben who was keeping up with Beverly along with Bill. Not because he wanted to know who the guy was that left with her, but because he wanted to know her and wanted to make sure she was happy.

The morning after the party, he felt a sort of inspiration to make a grand gesture. He marched down to the library first thing to do some research on gestures, on love stories, on poetry, on anything that could get the gears in his head working the way only the library could.

There was an early morning beauty along the shelves, the light pouring in from outside and the emptiness of the space. But Ben paid more attention to close details. As he wandered the stacks, he came across a simple poster, posters seeming to be what depicted his entire life, and a light bulb went off in his head.

A haiku. He could write her a haiku.

+++++

Bill was definitely excited to have a little practice session with his best friends and brother, but he was also scared out of his mind that something would happen along the way. He couldn’t help it. 

Bill slipped into the kitchen while Georgie spent an achingly long time tying his shoes––he swore he was too old for velcro. His mother, Mrs. Sharon Denbrough, was sitting at the counter, drinking her coffee and eyes looking at the morning paper.

“Muh-Muh-Muh-”

She hummed before he could finish. “Guh-Guh-Guh-Guh-Georgie is g-going t-t-to come with m-me t-t-to buh-buh-band pr-pr-practice today, if th-th-that’s okay.”

“To what?”

“Buu-Buh-Band pr-practice. With Ruh-Ruh-Richie a-a-and E-E-Eddie and St-Stanley.”

“Oh right,” she sighed. But the flicker was still there. “At the Tozier’s?” She asked.

Bill opened his mouth before shutting it tight and nodding. 

Sharon Denbrough rubbed her temples. “Be careful please. Look after your brother.” She always said that, and always in that same condescending tone.

Bill nodded again before turning on his heel to go put on his own shoes.

Eddie and Stan met them on their way to the Tozier house which could ease Bill’s worries. Sure, they could still get beat up, but at least now they had backup. It seemed that none of the bullies were out to torment them, though––perhaps all of them were still recovering from the party––and they made it to Richie’s house safely.

“George!” Richie yelled the second he swung the door opened, scooping Georgie into a hug. 

“Hi Richie!”

Richie knelt down to Georgie’s level and joked, in his posh Toddles the Butler voice, “How’s the stub?”

Georgie put on his own Toddles voice, not as convincing though, and patted his right shoulder, answering, “Stub’s good, sir!”

“D-D-D-Don’t c-call it a-a-a st-stuh-stuh-stub,” Bill muttered.

“What? It’s a stub.”

Georgie quietly said, too, “It’s a stub, Bill.”

Bill rolled his eyes.

They were a proper garage band, firstly needing to unload their equipment before they could start rehearsing in the Tozier’s garage.

Georgie requested a few songs, which Richie tried to live up to honor, much to everyone else’s annoyance. Each song ended in raucous cheer and laughter, Georgie’s wide smile fueling their energy. 

After playing “Don’t Stop Believing,” _twice_ , Eddie snapped. “Can we play something new? Shouldn’t we be _rehearsing?_ ”

“What do you want to play?” Stan asked.

“What about ‘Bastards of Young?’ We haven’t-”

“E-E-E-Eddie!”

“What?”

Georgie started giggling in the corner. “You c-c-cuh-can’t s-say th-th-that!”  


Eddie looked over at Georgie, realizing what Bill was getting at, but still rolled his eyes.

“Can we not sing the song?” Stan asked, with bass already around his neck.

“Cover your ears, Georgie,” Richie cackled before signaling to Eddie to start playing.  


Georgie didn’t cover his ears. He listened to the entire song. He wouldn’t tell Bill, though, and wouldn’t rat him out to their parents. Not that they paid much attention to the band and what they played. Georgie thought it was cool, his big brother being a rockstar with his nerdy friends. Sharon and Zack? They thought it was less cool.

Georgie was too young to understand and Bill was good at hiding it, but he could see it in the faces of Bill’s friends. Georgie may only have been 10, but he knew no bullshit about feelings, the endless sympathetic glances taught him that.

All three of them would give Bill their undivided attention whenever he opened his mouth, being patient with him. They’d quiet their own voices to give him an invitation to contribute to the conversation when he would have otherwise stayed quiet.

Stanley was the best at patience with Bill. He kept good eye contact with Bill and would be gentle if he couldn’t get a word out, reminding him to breathe or offering different words to say instead. He understood Bill’s frustrations and anxiety and could help him through it in a way the others couldn’t. 

Richie could always get him to laugh. Bill got sad a lot and would never tell Georgie why, but he still figured it had something to do with him and how different everything’s been. Richie, though, could make everything better. Georgie tried to copy some of Richie’s voices and jokes to get him to feel better, but he could never get Bill to laugh the same that Richie did.

With Eddie, it was different. Georgie didn’t know what he was best at because he was good at everything with Bill. Georgie always liked how they were the only two who didn’t sing in the band, even though they both had great voices. Richie and Stan could bounce energy off of each other through their singing and harmonizing, but Eddie and Bill bounced off each other with Eddie’s head-banging and Bill’s jumping. They got thoroughly lost in playing, connecting with the notes, the rhythm.

But it was more than just that with Eddie and Bill, how they complimented each other. Georgie knew they were close, but at times it seemed they were so distant. Richie would tell a funny joke and the boys’ laughs would leave them swaying, their shoulders would knock and the laughter would cease. Bill’s face would get red and he’d look down, avoiding eye contact with Eddie. Eddie would push his lips together and fidget around, studying Bill in secret.

Georgie didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand a lot of things, but his older brother was one case he wanted to crack before the time might be too late.


	6. Lone Star

Stanley needed his mind to be quiet. He needed the whole world to be quiet. Maybe that’s why he liked the park and birdwatching, it was a quiet place and calmed his mind. Sometimes, life got to be too much and he needed to slip away for a moment of peace. 

And the park was the perfect place to do that. There were many parks in Derry, all offering unique experiences which no one else understood. Over the weekend he had chosen Summit Park, beside the Thomas Hill Standpipe, where there was a sweet little bird bath tucked in the bushes. It was a slow day, not much to see, but it still helped to clear his mind before school started once again. 

He wished, though, that he could get more escapes. He liked the quiet, Mike liked the loud.

Mike’s Friday night could’ve been another quiet one, even with his bubble attending a party, but luckily Beverly Marsh stepped out of her own darkness and invited him on her adventure. 

It was the most fun he had had in a while, which made him wonder if he should be getting out more. Even walking out of the house, his heart leapt in excitement. Beverly was a pro at sneaking out, she told him with a wink, which made him even more excited. 

They had two hours until Will Hanlon was going to be expecting to pick him up, so the night seemed to be theirs. They skipped through the streets, Beverly flying her arms around and dancing to the music still playing in her head. 

Mike was enjoying her company. They got ice cream cones, combining a cold snack with the nighttime air, and she laughed as hers trickled down her hands. “How’s private school?” She asked him in between her licks, nearly joking.

Mike laughed. “It’s alright. We certainly don’t have parties like that one.”

“What? You guys don’t listen to bad pop music and worship God?”

“Hey, that band was actually pretty good.”

“Alright, I digress.” Beverly’s hair was glowing in the street lights. “We should do this again. Maybe when we aren’t running away from my classmates.”

Mike smiled at her, a smile so warm it could’ve melted her entire ice cream cone. “Just come on over to the Hanlon Family Farm whenever you need a break.”

Stanley couldn’t remember intentionally filling his life with such noise, especially with already willfully letting Richie Tozier stick around.

He was quiet throughout school, he had no choice but to be. He was perfectly alone in his classes, Bill, Eddie, and Richie all a grade ahead of him, so his day went by with his mouth shut and his head whirling.

When he got to Study Hall Monday afternoon, he had to take a moment to catch his breathe and relax. He had a Precalculus test the next day, forty pages of _Of Mice and Men_ to read, and a Biology project due at the end of the week. He pulled out his notebook and made a list of what he had to do that night: study for math, read for English, put away laundry, finish studying for math, find images for the biology project, learn the chords for the new song they’re working on.

The last one would luckily be a bit of a pleasure assignment. He had been playing the piano since he was a kid and started picking up the guitar and bass in middle school, so it would be fun and easy, but Stan had to put it on his to-do list to make sure he actually did it and enjoyed himself.

He pulled out his History book to get a head start on their next unit when he felt a poke on his back.

His entire body tensed up, his shoulders attacking his ears, before he turned to glare at whoever it was that just touched him. 

It was a girl.

He didn’t recognize this girl, but it seemed like she must have sat behind him every day in Study Hall. She was smiling so sweetly, the blush of her cheeks matching the strawberry pink of her headband, that Stanley felt he had to smile back, or at least ditch the scowl. 

“Did I see you playing in that band this weekend?” She asked, whispering softly.

Stan only nodded. 

“Wow,” she somehow smiled wider. “You were amazing. When will I get to hear you play again?”

He shrugged. Conversations were not his strong suit.

“Well, I hope it’s soon.”

Stanley smiled back at her, before turning away, but he heard her whisper, “Wait, are you taking Algebra II?”

God, she was persistent. He turned back around and finally answered her, saying, “No, I’m in Precalculus.”

“Oh wow. Sorry, I was just having some trouble.” He gestured to her open math book and scribbled notebook paper, complete with scratches and dust from her eraser.

“Uh,” his eyes couldn’t leave the mess in front of them after he noticed, “What, what do you need help with?”

She smiled, like she had won something, and turned her book to face him.

That girl didn’t leave his mind all day. There wasn’t much else to focus on, the wonders of the American Revolution or _Of Mice and Men_ , so he thought about how she remembered him. She remembered him.

And she was sticking around. She somehow magically appeared beside him as he was walking out of school, clipping his kippah back into his curly hair. “Oh, I didn’t know you were Jewish,” she said, which made Stan jump.

“Oh, uh,” he stammered. “Yeah, I-I am.”

She smiled again, that smile. “Cool. I am too.” She rearranged what she was holding to reach out a hand. “I’m Patricia Blum, everyone calls me Patty.” 

“I’m Stanley Uris,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand, needing to shift his clips from one hand to the next. 

“Do people call you Stan?”

“They do.”

“Alright, Stan.”

And she was gone.

She wasn’t the only one who remembered him, the further he walked out of school, the closer he got to Richie Tozier waiting for him by the bike rack. Richie was always waiting and never forgot, no matter how scrambled his brain got.

“You should just stop wearing that thing,” Richie said as Stan put the last of the clips in his hair. Four clips. Always.

“I can’t just stop wearing it, my father’s the Rabbi.”

“Doesn’t matter who your father is, you don’t like wearing it.”

Stanley might have rolled his eyes, but Richie was right. In Stan’s mind, he only had to pretend for a little while longer before he could run away from Derry, from his father, and never return.

He tried not to hate his father, his father was honest and respectable, and wanted the best for his son. But then he remembered that he was scared of being caught without his kippah around his father and he hated himself for being so spineless and letting his father dictate that part of his life. He could deal with hating himself, though. He didn’t know if he could deal with his father hating him.

Richie, somehow, didn’t care that Donald Uris hated him. They went over to Stan’s house to study after school, but that was met with challenges. The second they even walked on the property, Richie felt like he was walking on broken glass. The Uris residence was a cold air that made the hair on his arms stand up and his heart beat wildly. 

“Don’t touch that,” Stanley hissed when Richie put his hand up to the wall to balance himself. He looked over at Stan and squinted his eyes, clapping his hand onto Stan’s back instead. Normally that would elicit a shiver, but it was Richie.

“Stanley!” The voice of Donald Uris boomed through the house. Richie nearly fell when Stan shot straight up, and he scrambled down the hall to see what his father needed.

“Yes?”

Richie didn’t know if he should follow, but nothing got past Mr. Uris. “Did you bring someone over?”

“Uh, yeah. Richie and I were going to study for Precalculus.”

That was his cue. He sauntered into the kitchen with his winning smile, greeting, “Hey, Mr. Uris.”

Donald’s dark eyes drifted up and down over him before returning to judge his own son. “You work hard on studying, alright?”

Stan nodded sharply. And it was done. They shuffled upstairs to Stan’s bedroom and took a deep breath, Richie whispering, “He still hasn’t warmed up, has he?”

“Did you expect he would?” Stan whispered back.

He never would. Things at the Uris house were unchanging, the paint color in the bathroom, their holiday traditions, Stan’s bedroom. But it was nice to always have somebody to always have somebody to depend on on. Ofr Stan, of course. He knew what to expect and everything worked how he liked it to. It was nice for Richie, too.

Stan’s mind put everything in order and Richie’s took it out of order. Richie loved Stan’s predictability and Stan loved Richie’s unpredictability. It was refreshing, it was new, it was easy, it was fun.

When Richie first came over to dinner with the Urises, an overly formal affair for two eight year olds, Donald Uris made it very clear that he didn’t like him and didn’t want his son to be around him. 

“I do a lot for you, Stanley. A lot of sacrifices have been made for you and I do not want you throwing your life’s opportunities away by associating with him.”

Stanley didn’t listen, Richie somehow gave him the courage to be more defiant, and they both just so happened to sign up for baseball that spring.

And neither of them cared about Donald’s constant berating. Stan stopped asking if Richie could come over or if he could go over to his house because he liked Richie much more than he liked his dad. When he sat in the bathroom and cried because his hands hurt from washing them over and over again, Donald yelled at him. Richie gave him lotion and kissed his booboo.

While they sat across from each other, working on their respective Precalculus homework, Richie reached over and grabbed Stan’s hand, his thumb brushing over the little red bumps. 

“Does it hurt?” He asked.

“No.”

Richie pulled his Eddie Kaspbrak approved ziploc first aid kit, a Christmas gift for all of them, and starting rubbing vaseline on it. “We gotta make sure you’re in good shape to be a rockstar.”

“I’ll tell my therapist to fix me quicker, then.”

Richie looked at him over the rim of his glasses. “Good.”

That was the recent problem, there was always a problem, washing and washing and washing and washing his hands. It hadn’t been a problem for a while, but Sophomore year was kicking his ass and that just happened along with it. Endless schoolwork, his dad’s disapproval over the band, and how he needed to find a girlfriend as soon as possible to make sure he wasn’t gay.

For a moment there, he thought he was. But then Patricia Blum poked his back. Patty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone remind me to update this more often.
> 
> Also, to actually have a plot! That'd be great!!


End file.
